


The Thing About Friends.

by ineptshieldmaid



Series: Men of Honour [7]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C.S. Lewis, Voyage of the Dawn Treader - C.S. Lewis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-03
Updated: 2008-11-03
Packaged: 2017-10-10 15:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/101368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Edmund and Caspian are not friends - but maybe they'd like to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Thing About Friends.

**Author's Note:**

> I have chosen not to use archive warnings for my Narnia fic, because the ages and maturity levels of characters in Narnia don't map neatly onto our concepts of "underage" and "of age".
> 
> You can find an explanation of my policy re: age of consent in fiction [here](http://ineptshieldmaid.dreamwidth.org/189551.html). This series explores issues of age and maturity in relation to sex and other relationships. I do not believe that the sexual relationship in this series exploits age related power disparities.

In the midst of the storm, only the faintest changes in the light served to mark the passing of days. Caspian gave up counting, and napped when Edmund grew irritable. Edmund was keeping careful count, marking the days on the bulkhead with his knife, while Eustace insisted that dawn was in fact the ninth hour, and kept his own count in his little paper tablet. The days were interminably boring. Edmund was, at least, talking to him, and they hadn't had a shouting match for perhaps two days now. But Caspian did not like to press his luck, and kept conversation to a minimum, and the topics as neutral as he could. Lucy was a safe topic, while talk of Peter and Susan made Edmund tense and short-tempered. Talk of Edmund's world- Ingland, apparently- was good for perhaps fifteen minutes at a time, but only if Caspian's questions were about Edmund's childhood before Narnia. So, for the most part, the three boys lay in their respective beds and kept uncomfortable silence.

'You know,' Edmund said suddenly, rolling over in his hammock, 'I think today is the first day of summer.'

'Doesn't much look like it.' Caspian waved at their darkened porthole. He thought he heard Edmund chuckle to himself.

'We always had horse races,' Edmund said dreamily. 'On the beach. Lucy always won.'

Telmarines raced horses by the river, Caspian thought. But they still raced them on the first day of summer. 'We ought to celebrate, then,' he declared. Now, there was a proposition... If only he _had_ tossed Eustace over the side...

'Capital,' Edmund declared, and swung himself out of his bunk. Caspian followed suit, stretching legs grown cramped from days of lying about. The ship pitched and rolled, and they were thrown against each other all of a sudden. Eustace expressed his opinion of the situation by being violently sick. Fortunately, they had strapped a barrel to the side of his bunk for just that purpose. Edmund wrapped his arm around Caspian's waist, and it occurred to Caspian that this was the first time they had touched, really touched, since the Lone Islands. He found he did not quite know what to do- he thought they would balance better were they not linked together, but on the other hand...

'You great git,' Edmund muttered. It was half a panicked moment before Caspian noticed the laughter in his voice. 'Give me your arm. Here,' Edmund slung Caspian's arm over his own shoulders, and they staggered together toward the cabin door. Once in the empty rowing deck, they had to concede defeat and separate, staggering and crawling their way along the pitching ship. The few sailors off-duty were too soundly asleep in their hammocks to notice or care about anyone moving through the hold, but nevertheless, when they reached the wine store, both boys were giggling madly. They fell in a heap between two barrels, Caspian half sprawled across Edmund. The ship reached the crest of the wave and hung sickeningly in the air, before dropping sickeningly down into the trough. Two bodies slid together, landing with a thump against a row of barrels. Edmund's eyes were very wide, and that was all Caspian noticed before their mouths were mashed together, warm and wet and messy. Edmund smelt of salt and sweat and the dank air of their cabin, but Caspian supposed he smelt much the same. It barely mattered: here they were, lost at sea in the middle of a storm, and it was the first day of summer and they might drown or starve, and there were other kinds of hunger which wouldn't kill you but which felt urgent all the same.

The buck and roll of the ship flung them apart again, and when Caspian scrambled after Edmund, Edmund put a hand out against Caspian's chest and held him away.

'Caspian -' his voice cracked, which was gratifying. 'This wasn't... what I had in mind.'

Oh. Of course. Caspian pulled himself up against a barrel and tried to hold Edmund's gaze.

'King Edmund, forgive me. I shouldn't presume.'

Edmund dragged himself into a sitting position in turn. 'No, Caspian. I'm sorry.' Edmund clung onto his barrel with one hand as the ship plummeted again, but his leg lay across the space between them and pressed into Caspian's thigh as he sat tailor-fashion.

'My king, you have nothing to be sorry for,' Caspian stammered.

Edmund's mouth twisted. 'I'm not your king, Caspian. And I'm sorry. We're not... we're not friends.'

Caspian's stomach fell away alarmingly, and he thought longingly of Eustace's conveniently placed barrel. His mind was filled with Edmund: how Edmund looked and felt and tasted; how Edmund had felt _inside_ of him; how Edmund sprawled out in Caspian's arms to sleep. Was this how that lad felt- who was he, again? The Duke of Archenland's nephew, that was it. Caspian had had to explain something similar to him once. Grown men and kings have friends and catamites, and no lad is both.

'I'm sorry,' he said again. He stared helplessly at Edmund, who stared back. Another plummeting drop, the deck tilting wildly, and Edmund swore under his breath.

'Burn it all,' he muttered. 'I need a drink.'

'Me too,' Caspian agreed. If he had a drink, he might have a better excuse to befriend Eustace's barrel. 'I'll fill the wineskins and let's go.'

Edmund clambered to his feet and unhooked a single wineskin, filling it himself from the nearest barrel. With his back to Caspian, he had to half-shout over storm and the creaking of the _Dawn Treader_'s boards. 'You don't understand, Caspian.'

'King Edmund, please. I understand.'

Edmund shook his head sharply, stoppering the wine bottle. He turned, but rather than wobbling back out onto the rowing deck, he grabbed Caspian by the hand and dragged him into a gap which had once housed a large barrel. He was too close, Caspian thought. He could feel Edmund's breath on his shoulder. The ship tossed, and he put his arms around Edmund to hold him steady. Edmund rested his head on Caspian's shoulder for a moment, and then tugged Caspian down with him to sit jammed together between the barrels.

'You don't understand,' Edmund said again.

'I understand,' Caspian said tersely, although pressed up against Edmund like this, and with that light of uncertainty in Edmund's eyes, he didn't.

Edmund took a swig from the wineskin 'Let's get drunk,' he proposed.

'If you wish.' Caspian took the skin in turn.

'I'd like -' Edmund began, and almost snatched the wineskin back. 'You're a good man, Caspian,' he said, passing the wine back again.

'Thank you,' Caspian said. A concession like that shouldn't make him feel better, but it did.

'We're not friends,' Edmund repeated, slumping sideways against Caspian with the roll of the ship.

'I _understand_,' Caspian snapped. Really, he needn't go on about it.

'You don't.' Edmund twisted his neck to look up at Caspian. 'I mean... I'd _like_ to be friends. With you. I mean...'

Oh. Caspian's heart swelled. 'Edmund, I...' The wine was in his hand again, and looking more and more promising. King Edmund the Just. King Edmund wanted to be friends with _him_. He was an ungrateful churl, to be disappointed, even in the slightest. Was there no way to be friends with Edmund and yet have that heady feeling when their mouths met, to have the taste of Edmund on his tongue, the weight of Edmund in his arms again? No, he supposed there was not.

'I would be honoured,' he said, instead.

Edmund sighed, and relaxed against Caspian's side. Caspian wondered if friends were normally like this, in the land of Ingland. If the Ings were like Eustace, Caspian thought friends were probably _not_ like this, were not the kind of friends who snuggled into the crook of your arm and passed you the wineskin. So perhaps this was what friends were like in Old Narnia. He thought he liked it, but he also thought he was glad friends were not like this in his Narnia. A fellow's head could get rather confused, if friends were like this. He had to concentrate to stop himself from tangling his fingers in Edmund's hair and pressing his lips to Edmund's forehead.

'You know the thing about friends?' Edmund asked the question, all in a rush. Caspian knew several things about friends: he knew they were often false; he knew that he had few of them; he knew that, when his friend was this close to him, he shouldn't be feeling his cock harden in his breeches.

'Which thing about friends?' Caspian asked.

'Did you know,' Edmund began again. Caspian thought he might be getting drunk already. Sometimes, it was easy to forget that the king's body was very young. 'Did you know, Caspian, I think I half worshipped Peter?'

Peter. Always, they came back to Peter again. 'Doesn't everyone?' Caspian said. He supposed he would never learn the thing about friends.

'Not always. But I did. Always.'

'I can see why.'

'I know,' Edmund gave him the flicker of a smile. 'Doesn't matter. The thing is, after we won Narnia, after I- well, I'd done something very wrong. Peter had never been proud of me, you know. After what I'd done, he really couldn't be proud of me, not ever. But then Aslan forgave me and I thought Peter might. I did everything, you understand. Everything I could. I agreed with him on everything, told everyone he was right and gallant and magnificent. I... he isn't always right, you know.'

Caspian thought about it. 'No, I don't suppose he is. But he has a way of making people think he is, am I right?'

Edmund nodded. 'He didn't always. And I'm never convinced. I never was. But the thing is,' he downed another great swig, 'I let him think I was. We... we lost half our army, once. Half the town of Paravel burnt up, because Peter didn't think we needed to organise a civil fire brigade. He... he should have _known_. I knew. We'd both been in London for the first part of the war. He should have known. Susan knew. I knew, but I told her Peter was right. And the town burnt up.'

'Well, he was the King,' Caspian said.

'But I'm the King, too,' Edmund frowned up at him. 'He's just the High King. Hold on, I don't mean _just_ the High King. I mean... He's the High King, and he's my brother, and I'll always, always follow him. But I'm the king, too, you see? So I have to tell him when I know he's wrong. Because it's my kingdom, too. I made a vow to Aslan. I said I'd look after Narnia, the same as Peter did. And Susan, and Lucy.'

Caspian let himself breathe in the smell of Edmund's hair. 'I see,' he said, although he didn't, really.

'The thing about Peter,' Edmund went on, 'is that he never asked what I thought. He just... I half worshipped him, Caspian.'

'You said.'

'And he knew it. So he never asked. And then one day he was wrong, so wrong, and I couldn't not say something. Susan agreed with Peter, which was unusual, and Lucy was keeping her own counsel. And he was _wrong_, you understand, Caspian. So I told him. I was about the age that I am now. I mean, the age I look now. I think. Anyway. I told him, and I don't think I was very polite, but it's hard to be polite when it's Peter. I think I might have hated him a little for being wrong. Because he's Peter, he should know better.'

Caspian passed the wineskin back down. His head was pleasantly fuzzy, and he had his arms locked tightly around Edmund to prevent him from falling back as the deck pitched.

'And what happened,' Caspian asked.

'Well Peter was wrong, but it turned out all right anyway. And I didn't let him live it down, I kept harping on about it for weeks. Until the next time he was wrong. And we went on like that for years. I was right quite a lot. And wrong some of the time. But mostly I was right, and Peter still didn't care.'

'That's not right,' Caspian said. 'He ought to listen to his counsellors, if they're wiser than he.'

Edmund laughed into the wineskin. 'Would you listen to a self-important boy who does nothing but argue?'

Caspian bit his lip. 'I suppose I haven't been, have I?'

Edmund passed him the last of the wine. 'And that's the thing about friends,' he said, with an air of finality.

'What thing?' Caspian blinked. 'I'm afraid I haven't the least idea what you're talking about, Edmund.'

Edmund frowned. 'Oh.'

'What thing about friends, Edmund?'

'I love Peter,' Edmund said.

'He's your brother.'

'And my High King.'

'And your High King,' Caspian agreed.

'And so I will always follow him, you understand? And he knows I have to, but he didn't know I _wanted_ to. If I don't say when he's wrong I haven't done my duty. But it turns out that all those years he thought I thought him unworthy. I saved his life once, when he made a bad decision. It was in Telmar, actually. Anyhow. I saved his life, and he said he was sorry, that I was right and I must think him stupid. _Me._ Think Peter stupid.'

'Lucy says he can be, sometimes.'

Edmund snorted. 'True enough. But that's not the same as...'

'I know.'

'You're not my king, Caspian. But you are _the_ king. I think you're doing something stupid. I don't think you should be risking your life out here. I don't think you should be leaving your kingdom as you have. But I don't think you're a bad king.'

'Why, thank you,' Caspian said dryly. He wasn't sure how all this connected, or if it connected at all.

'There's something else you should know.'

'Hmm?' Edmund was looking up at him, his brown eyes wide and serious. Caspian very much wanted to kiss him. Perhaps on the eyelids. But that was evidently no longer appropriate.

'I almost left.'

'Left where?'

'Left the _Dawn Treader_. I had a berth organised on a fat merchant ship. I'm almost too old for a deckhand, but they said they'd take me on.'

Either the wine or the urge to kiss Edmund was clearly too much for Caspian, because this conversation was making no sense at all. 'When was this?'

'On the Lone Islands. You remember the day I disappeared?'

Caspian remembered. He remembered more clearly the part when Edmund came home, and pinned him down (threatened to tie him!), and then he'd - but Caspian oughtn't to think about that now.

'Why did you stay?' It was too much to hope that Edmund had stayed for him.

'Narnia isn't my Narnia anymore,' Edmund said, bracing himself against Caspian as the ship rolled. 'It's yours. I think you'll have a mess on your hands, but it's your mess. You understand? My presence there would only make it worse. You're a good king. You must be, if Trumpkin thinks things are settled enough for you to leave. And that's why I think you're making a mistake: because you're a good king. A mediocre king, if you were a mediocre king you could walk away and perhaps things would stay the same. But I saw you, before we left Narnia last time. People listen to you. You listen to people. People like you. That's the only real reason the Telmarines are tolerating the Old Narnians, and vice verse. Because they all like _you_.'

'Oh.' Caspian rested his cheek on Edmund's hair. He frowned. 'I have more faith in my people than that.'

Edmund sighed. 'You're very like Peter, sometimes.'

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Never mind. The thing is, if I went back to Narnia, I could make it not yours anymore. I could make it mine. But I won't. You're the King. Aslan made you King. And I will _never_ do anything to upset that. Do you understand, Caspian?'

Caspian found there was a lump in his throat, and he had to take another swig of wine before he could speak.

'I understand. I... thank you.'

Edmund took the wineskin back. 'Good,' he said. 'Now maybe we can be friends.'

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know the series is unfinished - sorry, folks, I'm unlikely to ever ever finish it.


End file.
